Pieces of Silence
by EGrace
Summary: How Henry might have started seriously considering leaving Vicki and Toronto.


Title: Pieces of Silence

Author: Elizabeth Grace

Dated: March 2008

Environ: Blood Ties episodes "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly" and "We'll Meet Again"

Categories: Drama; Angst / Supplemental Scenes

Rating: "M" This short story is intended for mature audiences age 16 and older. It contains a scene of mildly explicit sexuality.

Disclaimer: Sadly, Henry, Mike, and Vicki are not mine. No infringement is intended.

Distribution: Share and share alike, just please let me know first.

Feedback: Fire at will.

Premise: How Henry might have started seriously considering leaving Vicki and Toronto.

Notes: It seriously bothers me that Henry is as alone at the end of the first/second televised season as he is at the end of book five. So I haven't argued all that much with Julia for sticking around this long, even though she was originally supposed to be a one-shot character. Best laid plans and all that. But I figure the guy could use someone to talk to, and frankly, he deserves some undivided attention while we're waiting around for Vicki and more episodes. This follows my stories "Aftermath" and "Bridges" and falls between the Blood Ties episodes noted above.

* * *

One

She stumbled into him, would have fallen, but Henry tightened his hold and shifted his weight and easily kept Vicki on her feet and moving down the long, silent hall toward the exit.

"Sorry," she mumbled, clutching at his jacket.

"I've got you," he reassured her. "We're almost out."

"Good," she sighed, her voice low and slurred and slipping back under the edge of the drug, now that safety was certain and adrenaline had eased.

_Yes, good._ Good that he'd gotten there in time, good that she was alive and safe, good that they were leaving this place haunted by fear and death and a darkness that pressed on him and made his skin crawl. _All good._ But Henry said nothing, not sure anymore what to say, now that this case he hadn't wanted to work was done… Now that he'd forgiven her.

She'd apologized over the sword in his belly, but shock and utter disbelief had robbed him of thought--speech--even comprehension. She'd apologized over his bleeding body, but by then he'd understood, and with wave after wave of pain searing through him, nearly lost in the heat and the weakness of blood loss, he'd only been able to think of stopping her. Now drugs and the very real threat of her imminent decapitation had forced yet another apology out of her. And his love for her had finally risen, whole and sweet and aching in his chest, to push everything else aside and forgive her.

Except Henry was very much afraid that forgiveness hadn't changed a single thing.

He balanced Vicki at his hip and finally reached for the door. It stuck a little, probably because he'd wrenched it open hard enough to bend the hinges out of alignment on his way in. Henry sneered at the door and shoved, and fresh night air cleared the stench of cleansers and formaldehyde and chloroform from his nostrils.

"God, I'm tired," Vicki mumbled, shivering in his grasp as the cold hit her.

"I know," he said, evenly. He'd been working when Mike had called--still struggling with the story, but energized by his progress, thrilled with the stark simplicity he'd achieved--but now he was weary to the depths of his soul. This couldn't go on. The frantic drive, the desperate race to reach her--each moment of uncertainty a lifetime--swallowing around the fear, struggling to breathe under its suffocating weight--

But he hadn't been the only one afraid. Or the only one Vicki had once again left behind when she'd put herself in danger. Henry tightened his arm around her, freeing his other hand to dig his cell phone out of his pocket. Mike answered so quickly that Henry didn't hear a single ring.

"Is she really all right?"

A curious phrasing. But Henry didn't care enough to ask. "She's fine," he replied. And then the first hints of anger sparked and sharpened his voice. "She got lucky. Kelly drugged her, but for some inexplicable reason, he didn't decapitate her while she was unconscious. Instead he gave you enough time to figure it out, and me enough time to get to her. Not that she needed us. She was smashing the chair he'd tied her to over him when I arrived. Who knows? She might even have been able to get completely away. Without a car. At night. In the dark. When she can't see."

"Jesus H. Christ," Mike muttered.

Vicki frowned at him, blinking some of the drugged haze from her eyes, but turning her head upset her tenuous balance and she staggered and Henry grabbed for her with both hands and steadied her.

Until she jerked from his hold.

"Why did you go alone, Vicki?" he blurted, his throat tight, his voice raw.

"Hey," she protested, focused on those last few steps to his car, "big girl here."

Henry made himself take a deep breath. Getting angry wouldn't help. It never did. Not with her. "Even big girls bring backup. There are places even I would never go alone."

_Unless, of course, I was going after you_.

The words hung there in the silent stillness of that Godforsaken place, clear as the day he'd long since abandoned. His heart reaching out to hers, through the chaos and uncertainty of everything that had happened, even though the distance between them had grown wide and jagged. Even though his throat had closed and he couldn't actually break the silence pressing down on him to give her the words.

But she didn't hear them. She didn't reach back. In point of fact, he realized numbly, she didn't even turn around.

"I had everything under control, " she slurred, fumbling at the car door. "Come on, Henry. I'm cold and I'm tired. Can't we argue about this later?"

Disappointment sliced through his heart in a hot, painful rush. No, forgiveness hadn't changed a thing. Not for either of them.

"Of course," he whispered, and reached around her to open the door for her.

"Thanks," she sighed, climbing into the car.

He made himself breathe, made himself carefully close her door, made himself raise the phone back to his ear and calmly tell Mike that he was taking Vicki back to her office.

"What about--" Mike began, but it didn't matter what else Mike had to say. Vicki was the only thing they had in common, and she didn't seem to need either of them. Henry snapped the phone closed, walked around the car, slid inside, and started the engine. He couldn't stop himself from staring at her, though, there in the seat next to him, moonlight dancing across her closed eyes, her beloved face, as she relaxed into sleep. Once, he would have been moved by the trust that seemed to imply.

_Seemed. Imply._ It wasn't enough anymore. Not from Vicki. All that time. Waiting for her, loving her, believing they were walking a path that led to a life together. All of his dreams for them… shattered in that one moment of betrayal, the darkness she'd taken into herself falling between them, heavy and cold. Forgiveness alone could never be enough to bridge that, to bring their paths, their lives, their very beliefs, back together. Not when they hadn't been as closely tied as he'd thought in the first place. And certainly not if Vicki didn't need him… if she didn't even want him, there at her side, where he'd thought he belonged.

His phone rang. Henry blinked at it, surprized to see it still in his hand. He put the car in gear and pulled away and answered, dully, without caring enough to look to see who it was. "Fitzroy."

"Henry?"

_Julia._

For a moment he couldn't speak, as the peace he'd found with her rose up to ease gently through his torn heart and soothe the worst of his exhaustion away. "I'm here," he managed, softly, warmly. "How are you?"

She hesitated. For far too long.

"What's wrong?" he frowned.

"I'm fine," she denied. But her voice had grown heavy. Sad. Almost desperate.

"I'm on my way," he said, simply.

"No, Henry, that's not necessary," she sighed. "I promise, I'm all right. I don't want to pull you away from whatever you're doing. I just… I needed to hear your voice."

Being needed, even for so small a thing, healed his heart a little more and made him smile. "I'm glad you called. Because I needed to hear yours, too."

"Really?" How wistful she sounded. How tired.

"You have no idea," he firmly insisted.

"Well, then," she stammered, her voice lightening, "what _are_ you doing?"

_I have no clue_, he nearly said. Which suddenly made seeing her, talking to her, touching her, sound like the perfect idea. It wouldn't take long to see Vicki settled under Coreen's watchful eye. And Julia's row home wasn't that far from the office. "Just working. But I could be at your house in half an hour."

Julia's voice dropped to nearly a whisper, once more thick with sadness. "That's not actually--"

In the background a woman's strident voice interrupted Julia, sharply asking who she was speaking to at that hour. Henry glanced at the clock on the dash. Well. It was later than he'd thought--but not_that_ late.

"No one you know, Mama," he heard Julia reply, a subtle tension underlying the cool flatness of her soft words. "Just one of the artists with an idea for the new logo. He works late." She turned back to the phone. "I'm sorry, you were saying?"

A white lie for Mama--who apparently hadn't left, if Julia's tone was anything to judge by. The other bedroom in Julia's home, so different from hers, from all the other rooms, all those cold, jarring touches to the warm and cozy décor that he'd passed and wondered about, suddenly made sense. Whether temporary or permanent, Julia had a guest. Henry changed his mind about going to her place again. He wanted to help her, not stir things up with her mother. But he needed to see her. And it sounded like she needed to see him. He just had to hope that getting Julia out of the house wouldn't cause problems for her anyway.

"Come to me, Julia," he gently offered. "You have the address."

"That would be fine. Thirty minutes, then?"

So professional. So detached. And so utterly unlike his Julia. Henry was glad he'd made the offer. Whatever healing and support he found in their relationship, he wanted to give at least that much back to Julia. It was time, then, to learn more about her and hopefully, find other ways to ease her burdens. Henry made sure she knew how to get to his building and they hung up.

"Who was that?" Vicki mumbled. More than half asleep, but curious nonetheless.

Except… There were so many places he wasn't allowed to go in Vicki's life. Places that he was beginning to doubt he would ever be able to touch. He'd forgiven her, yes. But that distance between them remained, full of all those pieces of silence. Her heart was still closed to him. Perhaps, he realized in a painful rush, it was time to start closing his.

He swallowed hard. And kept his relationship with Julia to himself, as she had done. "No one you know."

Vicki didn't press. Sighing, murmuring something so softly that even he couldn't hear it, she drifted into true sleep.

Henry drove along the familiar roads in silence, the woman he loved safe at his side. He knew the city intimately, was heading to a place he'd enjoyed working, would soon know the peace of another woman's friendship and support and the sanctuary of his home. But he was no longer certain where he was going. And somehow, he had never felt more alone.

Two

He was only a few minutes late, but Julia was already there, sitting in a corner of the lobby. Bundled against the cold in a long black coat, a soft scarf of muted reds and yellows and burnished oranges spilling down from her neck in elegant contrast. Still, silent, her long brown hair tumbled softly around her shoulders, the smooth lines of her face gently edged by the lobby's dim lighting. Waiting for him. Only for him. _I needed to hear your voice._ Everything jagged in him smoothed over at the sight of her, everything roiling in him eased, and he crossed to her with a lighter heart than he would have thought possible, after the last few unsettling nights with Vicki. But Julia's face was blank and closed, her gaze turned so far inward that she didn't know he was there until he squatted in front of her, concerned, his touch light on her knees.

That was all it took. Henry watched, breath catching in his throat, as warmth unfurled to chase the darkness from Julia's eyes, the stiffness from her limbs, as pleasure flushed her cheeks and shaped her lips in a sweetly welcoming smile. Such a stunning transformation, just because he was there. His heart swelled.

If they'd been alone, he would have kissed her. But Julia was too private, and the doorman's stare too bold, too intrusive. "Come," Henry breathed, reaching for her hands and raising her smoothly to her feet.

But Julia blinked, swayed, dizziness blanking her eyes again, and when her knees buckled Henry shifted with power and speed and pulled her into him, bracing her against his strength, his hands hard at her waist.

"Julia?" he sharply questioned.

She blinked again, breathing deeply, and slowly gathered herself. "I'm okay," she murmured, even though she wasn't, not yet. She didn't pull away, trusting herself to him as she got her feet back under her and color seeped back into her pale face. "I'm okay," she said again, on a long, careful exhale. Trying to convince herself, or him?

"Is everything all right, Mister Fitzroy?" the doorman challenged.

_What a busybody, _worse than a gossiping, nosy old woman. But the man's question was valid. Henry raised an eyebrow at Julia, his hands still on her, cautious and tense.

Julia smiled wanly up at him, warmth lighting the depths of her eyes once more. "Really, Henry. Nothing's wrong. I just got up too fast."

He sighed, not pushing--maybe it was that simple--and let himself relax, glancing aside to nod at the doorman as he slid his hand to Julia's, twining his fingers through hers and leading her to the elevator. When the doors closed he tucked her next to him, kept her there as they walked down the hall. But once he was home, once he had her alone, he pulled her around and lowered his mouth to hers.

That she was waiting for his kiss filled his sore heart to bursting. That she shuddered at the first touch of his hands beneath her coat, a soft, broken sound escaping her, made him harden in a swift, aching rush. He reached to pull at the scarf, to push her coat away, flashed to a sharp, heated image of taking her against the door, the taste of her blood rich and thick in his mouth--

And realized her scent had changed. The difference was subtle, but it was there.

There were only so many reasons a woman's scent changed.

Henry made himself slow, deepening his kiss, gentling his hands on her to pull her close and hold her--simply hold her--as he filled his senses with her. He listened to her breath, flowing smoothly in her lungs and across his skin. Felt the softness of her lips, the fine edges of her teeth and the roughness of her tongue. The taste of her, sweet and clear, like wine had once tasted to him. Her heart, pounding in her chest, so loud in his sensitive hearing. The soft, round weight of her breasts pressed against him. The urgent strength of her hands, on his back, at his nape. The sheer warmth of her, head to toe, in his arms. _Her blood_, rushing through her veins… And far beneath all the sounds and sensations of her body he caught the astonishing hum, soft and fast, of a second heartbeat.

_A second…_

The world changed with that small sound, that tiny life, another chance, so many possibilities, and Henry wanted to laugh with the thrill and the joy of it. But the knowledge of Julia's pregnancy didn't belong to him any more than the child did--and she hadn't come to him with a smile and the news bursting from her lips, but with sadness in her eyes. With silence. He was so very tired of silence.

Layer by warm, honeyed layer, he slowly retreated from the depths of her mouth, until finally he lifted his lips, no more than a breath away from hers, and opened his eyes. Julia sighed, a small smile delicately touching the corners of her mouth, and when her eyes fluttered open the smoky depths of her gaze glittered. With desire. With need. With uncertainty, and with secrets.

He grazed the line of her jaw with his lips. "Are you sure you're all right?" he softly pressed.

"Clean bill of health," she reassured him, her hand sliding around his neck and rising to brush the hair tenderly back from his temple. "Just today, in fact. I promise, Henry. I'm fine."

He saw the hesitation in her, that moment of wondering if she should take the opening he'd given her. But it passed, the words still unspoken, and now the silence hurt.

So much silence in four hundred and fifty years. So many times he hadn't shared the truth with people. So much time alone, even when surrounded by the crowds and the press of entire cities. If he was honest with himself, that was part of the reason he'd revealed himself to Vicki--the silence had once again grown too heavy for him to bear alone. And for a time, she had pushed it back, filling it with her light and her strength. But the silence had returned with one thrust of his own sword, with one sip of his own blood. He hadn't been able to find a way through it yet with Vicki. He wasn't even certain that he could. But tonight, there would be no more silence for Julia.

"Tell me what you need, Julia," he began.

She stilled, her fingers tangled in his hair. "You've already given it to me."

He grinned slyly. "A kiss?"

"Well, yes," she blushed, "that, too. But that's not what I meant. I feel like I can breathe when I'm with you. Everyone around me has so many expectations of me, as if they all own pieces of me and can pull and push those pieces any way they want. But you don't do that to me, Henry. With you, I can relax and just… _breathe_."

_Yes._ He knew _exactly_ what she meant. He imagined he had fewer responsibilities to others than Julia, and _no one_ owned any part of him but himself. True, he'd been offering his heart to Vicki for nearly a year now. But she'd never taken it--had started to act as if she didn't even know it was offered, much less hers for the asking. Different expectations, his and Vicki's, that had brought an edge to so many words between them, and now left them with silence and distance and him, at least, with that old, familiar loneliness. But when he was with Julia, he could relax. He wasn't alone. Even if they didn't know all of each other's truths, there was a level of acceptance and respect with Julia that somewhere, somehow, he'd lost with Vicki.

Henry brought Julia's hand to his mouth and pressed a grateful kiss to her palm. "That's what you give to me, too."

"I wondered," she admitted, lightly, but because he was watching her so closely, Henry saw the doubt as clearly as if she'd shouted it.

He cupped her face in his hands and took her mouth in a swift, hard, penetrating kiss. "You're an extraordinary woman, Julia," he said, sternly, his gaze locked inexorably on hers, "like no one I've met in a lifetime. Don't you dare sell yourself short."

"Henry," she gently admonished him. "I know _exactly_ who and what I am, even if I'm not always sure what I want. I know my strengths as well as my shortcomings. But you're ridiculously young and sexy and now I find out you're also ridiculously talented and rich and--well--I--I may be a lot of things, but I'm not any of_them_."

"I'm not young, ridiculous or otherwise," he said calmly, brushing his fingertips across her lips when she would have interrupted. "And sexy is in the eye of the beholder, so I assure you, _you__are_ sexy. Would you like me to show you how rich and talented I think you are?"

She blinked at him, bemused. And perhaps just a little unsure. "Be my guest."

He took her coat and scarf from her then, tossing them onto the sofa with his as he led her across the suite to his studio.

"Oh, Henry," she breathed, eyes wide as she turned in a slow circle. Pieces of the book he'd been working on now and again for nearly a year were scattered everywhere she looked. "I could never do anything like _this_."

"I never show _anyone_ my work before it's finished, Julia," he announced. She turned sharply to stare at him. "But I want you to see this. Because_you are_ talented and rich in every way that matters and…" He took a deep breath. And then he took a leap of faith. "I need your advice."

"My advice?" she gaped. "About your art? How could I possibly help you with _that_?"

This time he didn't hesitate. This was new ground for him--but it felt right. He gave words to a truth he'd admitted to no other.

"I don't know how to end the story."

"I don't understand," she breathed.

Henry took her hand and led her to the back table and the first chapters. "It starts here," he told her, and showed her everything he'd done so far. His heroine, so clearly modeled after Vicki, strong and beautiful, touched by power, searching for her destiny. His hero, not a vampire, but a powerful man nonetheless, incorruptible… yet cursed. The quest forced on them, the dangers they faced, the partnership they forged. The love that grew, fierce and compelling, despite all of the obstacles. Julia silently poured over it all.

When he thought she was ready, he showed her the first, ambiguous ending, from his original notes, written before he'd begun to see what Vicki might mean to him. Julia blinked at those pages, lips parted, head cocked, clearly as unsatisfied as he'd been.

His chest tightened, but Henry steeled himself and showed her the second version. He'd rejected it as too grim, even for _his_ work. But then, it had been the first thing he'd worked on after Mike's jealousy had thrust the Illuminacion del Sol into his chest and sent him straight into the hands of the good Father. He'd nearly burned those pages more than once. Julia frowned at that ending and backed away from it, and without looking at her Henry put the next revision in front of her.

He'd dubbed it The Sunshine and Roses ending. Trite. Sophomoric. Completely uninspired. He'd drafted those frames when the paint on his wall had still been fresh, Pandora's Box sealed safely out of sight behind it. After Vicki had let him feed from her in the elevator. After she'd _looked_ at him, for just that one, fleeting moment as he'd pulled away, her breath uneven with desire, her eyes dark and fathomless and full of possibilities. After she'd told him he'd _trusted_ her so completely that he'd ended the thrice-damned world for her.

Julia covered her mouth as she straightened from those pages, eyes dancing with amusement. "Not your usual style," she managed.

"Clearly," he grimaced. "I must have been delirious with fever that night." Then it hit him. "My _usual_ style?"

"When you left your card, I googled you," Julia shrugged. "Then I went and read your books. You're amazing, Henry. But this is by far the best thing you've ever done."

That made him pause, staring at her, her praise and the knowledge of her interest a warmth in his chest. But she wasn't looking at him anymore. Her eyes were full of his work, skimming once more through everything, lingering now and again to trace a line, to smile at the dark humor. More than once he watched her gaze go soft and distant. Other times she frowned. Considering, he presumed.

He crossed his arms and leaned back against the side table and waited, patiently, though still not quite comfortable with showing anyone his work at this stage. So many friends and lovers who'd moved him throughout the long years, but he'd never _quite_ revealed himself in this way to any of them before. Not Christina. Not even Vicki. But things had changed. _He_ had changed. So much was uncertain now. He needed a new direction for more than just this story. But if he and Julia could bring each other peace, then perhaps together they could find clarity as well.

"So fantastical," she finally breathed, turning back to him. "Where do you come up with all this?"

"You'd be surprized," he snorted, holding back a smile. "Well?"

"You really want to know how I'd like to see the story end?"

"I do. You're a smart woman, Julia," he said evenly. "And I trust your honesty. So what feels right to you?"

She flushed with pleasure at his words. "All right, then. I'd like to see them win through in the end. They've already suffered enough consequences, made so many sacrifices. But they're smart enough, strong enough, and they deserve to win. They should find a way."

Henry found _himself_ hesitating. "That wouldn't feel… forced?"

She shook her head. "That miserable ending felt forced, and so did the absurdly romantic one. But these two, they've _earned_ a victory. A real one."

"I see," he murmured, wondering. But she wasn't done.

"Actually," she continued, "the only thing that feels forced is this distance between them. Why can't they just tell each other how they feel?"

He sucked in a hard, startled breath, unnerved by her insight. "You still don't think you're talented?"

"I still think you're young," she countered, smiling. "Now--what's the deal between these two? I realize you keep them busy from start to finish--and don't get me wrong, their love is clear as day the way you've drawn them--but there's all this _silence_between them. Why are they always dancing around any plain talk about their feelings for each other?"

"Fear," he numbly admitted, and then he had to look away, because he wasn't talking about the story any more. "He's afraid that if he opens up to her, he'll finally find out she doesn't love him as much as he loves her."

"And her?" Julia softly prompted. "What is she afraid of?"

"Giving up control," he managed. "Sharing herself, letting someone else in. Losing her independence when she does."

"So they never even talk about it?"

He closed his eyes. "Once the words are spoken, there's no going back."

"I suppose not," Julia mused. "Still, I think they're both strong enough to have the conversation. And--they owe it to themselves--don't they?"

"Maybe they do," Henry whispered. "But that doesn't mean it's going to happen. Or that it would end well if it did."

She came to him then, her hands warm and gentle as they smoothed his hair back from his face, caressed his cheeks, slid down supple and so very soft to rest on his shoulders. "Did you forgive her?"

His eyes flew open and he stiffened.

Julia's smile was the warmest, most gentle thing he'd seen in a hundred years. And Henry realized it was time for more truths than he'd expected.

"I did," he rasped.

Her eyes searched his, her hands skimming down the tension in his arms. "And did you tell her that you love her?"

He stood, needing to move, there was too much in his heart, too much in her eyes--

But Julia laid her hands on his chest, and Henry jerked to a stop. "It's just me, Henry," she soothed. "You don't have to be afraid of anything with me. Even if I knew her name, even if she walked in that door right now, you _know_ I'd never say a word. I'd never do that to you. This is your story, Henry--not mine."

He shook his head, but Julia's support was so generous and image after image of the last year with Vicki were flashing one after another in front of him and all of the feelings churning inside him just wouldn't stay there anymore. "I've told her in every way but the words," he ground out, his hands sudden and rough on Julia's arms. "I've protected her, I've fought for her, I've faced things for her that I would have walked away from otherwise. I have trusted her and been more vulnerable in front of her than with anyone else _in my life_."

It dawned on him that he might be hurting Julia, that he should let go of her and step away and be the gentle man he'd always been with her. But she didn't look away, didn't flinch, didn't say a word, just looked at him with such breathtaking compassion that the storm inside him rose up and crashed through him and he opened his mouth and spat the rest of it out.

"And she _betrayed_ that trust," he snarled. "She said she did it for me, and I _know_ she was just trying to help--trying to protect me this time. But she didn't listen, she didn't ask, she went against my wishes and she hurt me more than I ever would have thought possible and the worst part is _I know she'll do it again_ if she convinces herself it's the only way."

"Forgiveness isn't always enough, is it?" Julia whispered, a bitter sadness swamping her face in a heavy, crashing wave. "Not when you know they still don't understand."

Of course she'd know how he felt. He'd seen the same cutting disappointment in her from the start. And now he had some of the names. "Your mother?" he questioned hoarsely. "Rick?"

"Everyone," she sighed, eyes dark, her voice bleak. "Maybe I waited too long to stand up for myself--I don't know--but now I can't make any of them see."

_Lying weak and helpless on his own floor, his blood seeping across the wood as he begged her not to drink…_ "Maybe they don't want to see, Julia."

"Or they can't," she softly added. "I've made it so easy for them all these years. I kept thinking if I could be the _perfect_ daughter, the perfect sister, the perfect student and businesswoman and homemaker--do everything exactly right--then they'd all love me, really love me. I was willing to do anything, be anything, to make that happen. But all I did was turn myself into a doormat." The truth shook her, but she'd had the courage to say it out loud. He could do no less.

"She--_Vicki_--keeps turning away from me," Henry admitted, his heart breaking, the words like jagged pieces of broken glass in his mouth. His hands hurt, he was holding Julia so tightly. But he couldn't make himself let go. Not now. "She won't take my love, and she won't trust me enough to let me in, and now I… I'm beginning to think she never will. I don't think I can keep waiting, either--reaching out, over and over, just to watch her turn away from me each and _every_time. God, Julia. After what she did, I don't even think I can trust her any more."

There it was. The appalling truth. The things he hadn't wanted to see, hadn't let himself admit. Hadn't _ever_ thought could happen.

Julia's hands balled into fists against his chest. "Do you think they know they're hurting us?"

He chose his words carefully. "I don't think they understand, no. Because I don't think they let themselves look that far into us. We put love first. They either can't or won't do that."

"_I can't make them see_," she said starkly. "I've tried. These last few weeks, since I-- My God, _the arguments_. It was actually a blessing when my mother went to visit my sister--and how awful is it of me to think _that_? But nothing I've said makes a difference. I'm wasting my breath, and I know it. Except I _don't_ know what I should do about it. I can't keep going like this if nothing is going to change. But how can I move on, make something new, with all of these people depending on me? What's right, and what's just plain selfish? Henry, _I don't know what to do_."

"I know," he soothed, finally unclenching his hands, but only to jerk them around to her back and pull her roughly into his arms, needing her there, taking as much comfort as he gave. Because he did know, intimately, the awful frustration--the gut-wrenching fear--that he'd never find the words to make Vicki trust him with her heart. And now, finally, he knew the bitter futility of realizing _he didn't believe he ever would_. Which left him, too, unsure of what to do next.

Julia shuddered and pressed her forehead to his chest. Gathering herself. He could feel it, and he thought he knew what was coming next. Henry waited, trying to gentle his hands on her back, trying to breathe around the pain throbbing in his soul. But it wasn't long at all until Julia raised her head, meeting his somber gaze with her own.

She took a long, careful breath. "Henry, there's more. When I called…"

Again she faltered, unconsciously reaching to him for help, and it was the easiest thing in the world to give it to her. "Things have changed, haven't they?" he gently prompted. "Will you tell me now?"

Finally, there it was--sheer, simple joy, lighting her eyes and shaping her lips and softening her hands against him. "Henry," she breathed, "I'm pregnant. Almost seven weeks."

Everything within him ached. But her joy flowed sweetly to him and he let himself forget, for just a few moments, all the pain and the fear of facing that his chance for a life with Vicki had almost certainly passed. These moments were about Julia, and the future she would build with her child, and whatever he could do to make that possible for her.

"Julia," he murmured, pressing the softest of kisses to her cheek, to her temple. "I'm so very happy for you."

"I'd given up hope," she hoarsely confessed, clinging to him as laughter shook her. But it didn't last. It couldn't--not yet. He heard the first hint of tears in her laugh, felt the tension creeping into her embrace and edging the joy aside, and this time he kissed her mouth, urgent and hard and fierce, desperate to hold all of the sadness and uncertainty at bay.

"Tell me," he urged against her lips, "all you have to do is tell me and whatever you want to do, Julia, _I will make it happen_."

"No, no, that's not why I told you," she protested, pulling back to clutch at his shoulders, and for the first time he saw the depths of her strength and protectiveness focused on _him_. "I don't care what kind of money you have, Henry, I can't let you take responsibility for another man's child--_you're too young_--you've got your entire life ahead of you to--"

"I am _not_ young," he swore, and tightened his hands on her waist as he loosed the full force of his power. It burned darkly in his eyes, crackled in the air between them, hardened his every muscle and rolled from him with every breath.

She stilled, staring, confusion shadowing her eyes. But not fear--not yet. She hadn't pulled away, hadn't even moved her hands from his shoulders. For that at least he was grateful.

"I… thought I imagined this," she finally said. "That first night, at Saint Joseph's."

"You didn't," he replied, power roiling thickly through the words.

She touched his cheek, tentatively, the first hints of doubt flashing through her. "You said you were just Henry, just someone who'd been hurt."

She didn't say the words, didn't ask or accuse, still trusting him enough to be honest with her. But the question was nevertheless there in her eyes.

"I didn't lie to you, Julia," he soothed, banking the hardest edges of his power, until he knew his eyes burned clear. "That was the truth. The only one that mattered that night. It just wasn't the _only_ truth."

Watching her so closely, he saw the struggle in her. She wanted to believe in him, in all of the honesty between them--that it all had been real--in everything they'd given each other. But he'd shown her something she couldn't explain, forcing her to wonder if he would disappoint her after all, just like everyone else in her life. He wasn't surprized, though, when she braced herself, tensing beneath his hands, and raised her chin. "Will you tell me now?"

She was so strong. Strong enough that he knew she could handle all of his truths. He just didn't want to scare her. Not at all. Not ever, if he could help it. But stabbing himself to prove his point was definitely out--the mere thought of it made his stomach roll sickly. So he ignored the X-Acto knives on the drawing table and the letter opener on the desk and especially the sword in its rack and instead he smiled at Julia, wickedly, intimately, smoothing his hand up to cup hers against his cheek, and turned his face to nuzzle her palm.

The unexpected caress made her fingers tremble against his lips, her body soften with desire, and she gasped. "Is that a no?"

"It is not," he murmured, licking her fingers, reveling in her sharply indrawn breath, in the pounding of her heart, not in fear but in passion. Her body spoke to him--her blood called--and Henry let his power rise with the same, aching rush of his desire. "I want you to remember that it's still just me, Julia," he said thickly, passion and power shimmering between them. He lifted his mouth, turned his head, let her see his eyes. "It's still just me, and I will _never_ hurt you or your child. No matter what. Believe in that, Julia. Believe in me. Because I don't want to tell you what I am. I want to show you. Will you let me do that?"

"I think I'd let you do almost anything, Henry," she whispered. "As long as it doesn't hurt the baby."

The child first. Already. He understood, then. Her priorities had changed. Her life would change. And she'd reached out to him as a part of that. She was still reaching out, even through all of her uncertainty. Trusting him, wholly, not to hurt her or disappoint her or betray the vulnerability she was allowing him to see. To be trusted like that… there was no greater gift. For the briefest instant there was pain, lancing through his heart and choking the breath from him, that Vicki wasn't the one in his arms. But he couldn't demean Julia or her gift like that and he shoved the thought and the pain away--away--until it was hidden as far within as he could bury it.

"Thank you," he managed.

Her fingers closed round his. "Are you all right?"

She'd seen. She'd seen, and he hated that she had. She deserved better than that from him. Silently he vowed that better was what she'd get.

"I will be," he promised aloud. "And so will you."

He let her see his teeth, turned back to her wrist and let her feel them, sharp, against her tender skin. She shuddered against him and he licked her wrist, suckled her fingers, reassuring her, and giving her every chance to tell him to stop.

She didn't. Some part of him knew she didn't understand yet. But the rest of him wanted her too badly, needed too badly to crush at least this piece of silence in his life, and he took the freedom of her body that she had given him and nuzzled her palm and kissed his way back to her wrist and finally, openly, he grazed his teeth across her pounding pulse point and broke the skin.

"_Henry_."

Finally, the first bitter sound and scent and startled jolt of fear in her, as her blood spurted into his mouth. Fear didn't change the taste of her blood, but it did change everything else. Henry held her wrist a moment longer, just one more moment to lick at the small wounds, to seal them, to let her feel the desire thrumming in her skin--recognize it--and then he released her entirely and stepped back.

Julia stared, shock and disbelief and no small amount of fear widening her eyes and shortening her breath and leeching the color from her face. She was shaking so badly she didn't even think to lower her trembling hand.

"It's still just me," he smiled, crookedly, letting the power fall away from him, thinking he could catch her if she fainted. Wondering with sadness if she'd want him to touch her if she did.

"Vampires aren't real. They're not. You can't be--" she choked. "I met you _in a church._"

"I'm a vampire, Julia--not a demon," he softly explained. "I still have my soul, I still wear a cross, I still worship God. None of that changed when I was turned."

"When you were what?" she stammered.

"Turned," he repeated. "When I was made _vampire_. Four hundred and fifty years ago, give or take."

She blinked, her lips parting on a softly inhaled breath.

"I told you I'm not young."

"I need to sit down," she rasped.

"If you'd like," he said, waving at the chair tucked under the drafting table. "Or," he softly, gently offered, opening his arms, "you can lean on me."

She stared at him, at her wrist, at the tiny marks, and shuddered, closing her eyes, closing her fist. "What are you asking me, Henry?"

"How do you want the story to end?"

Her eyes flew open, those crystal depths still and waiting as she watched him.

"It's always been your choice," he said, simply, lowering his arms.

She remembered that. Believed it. He saw it in the deeper breath she took, in the easing of her tense stance and her tightly held fist. But then her eyes narrowed, and she waved her wrist at him. "Did you-- Did you do this to me before?"

"Yes," he admitted. "I told you I needed you."

"You didn't tell me _this_," she protested. "How did I not notice you were--_Christ_, I can't believe I'm actually saying this--_drinking my blood_?"

"It was part of the pleasure," he said, his voice silky and dark, letting the memories of their lovemaking rise up between them, feeling his hunger swell once more. Her lips parted, her gaze went distant and hazy, and he knew she felt the weight of those memories, too.

She rubbed absently at the marks. "Is that why it was so good?" she asked, so softly he almost didn't hear her.

"Partly. Better than four centuries of experience didn't hurt."

"Good Lord," she said faintly, her eyes falling shut.

"But mostly, Julia, it was good because it was honest and giving, between two people who desperately needed both," he gently finished.

She crossed her arms, hugging herself, and turned away. An ache bloomed in his chest, high and hard and tight, and it took all his strength not to go to her. To stay where he was, quiet, waiting, to _breathe_, to give her whatever time and space she needed. Except he'd done that with Vicki, and it hadn't worked out so well, and the pain of that was already killing him.

"Julia," he finally said, and he tried to sound calm, like watching her turn away from him hadn't shredded what was left of his soul. She didn't deserve that, shouldn't even try to shoulder any of that burden, but it was there--it was all there in that one word, just her name, and because it was Julia he knew she heard. And because it was Julia, she turned swiftly back to him with tears and understanding in her eyes and his whispered name on her lips and then she swayed across the space between them and flung herself into his arms.

And he could breathe again. He buried his face in her hair and held her hard against him, reveling in the strength of her embrace as she clung to him.

"Julia," he whispered this time, because it was all he could manage, with all of the joys and the pains fighting for a place in his heart.

"I have questions," she warned, the words muffled against his shoulder.

"I'm sure you do," he murmured. "And I will answer them all."

"You'd better," she said. "Because whatever you are, Henry, I don't want to lose this."

"'This,'" he softly, wryly repeated. "I'm a vampire in love with someone who won't let herself love me back, and you're a mortal woman having another man's child. God must have quite a sense of humor, to bring us together on the steps of His house."

"His mysterious ways?" she suggested, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

"No doubt," he agreed. "But whatever we make of 'this,' I don't want to lose you, either."

"I don't know what to do," she admitted.

"Neither do I," he sighed. "But we'll figure everything out."

She reared back to stare up at him, her gaze unexpectedly so fierce and powerful that it was like looking at an entirely different woman. "The baby comes first, Henry," she swore. "Nothing is more important to me now than my child."

"That is as it should be," he gravely acknowledged.

She sighed, something in her easing, the sudden storm in her eyes blowing over and leaving her soul shining through, crystalline, shimmering, and it warmed his aching heart that she believed him. That with Julia, at least, there would be no more silence.

"Then tell me, Henry. Tell me again what I can do for you."

His heart filled with a sweetly painful gratitude, that she should offer herself to him now, when she knew what he was, and Henry smiled for her, remembering, seeing the memory in her eyes. "Take a walk with me?"

"Not far, I hope," she softly teased.

"The bedroom's right over there," he nodded, with a small, sly grin.

She raised her hands to cup his face, raised her body against his to brush his lips with her own, so delicately, so tenderly, that he stilled with the raw, startling pleasure of it.

"Take whatever you need of me. Show me all of you," she whispered against his mouth. "Everything, even the blood. I know you won't hurt the baby, now or ever."

"I swear it," he vowed, and swept Julia into his arms, cradling her close as he carried her through to the soft, quiet darkness of his bedroom. There were still holes in him, huge and gaping and raw, places that had once been filled with his love for Vicki, with his hopes for them. Places that not even Julia's generous, boundless support and trust and affection could ever heal. But he was needed. He was trusted and accepted, completely. And that meant everything.

He let her slide down his body, there at the side of his bed, let her feel his strength, his need, until her feet touched the floor and she pressed herself up into him, her lips raised to his in wordless demand. But that wasn't enough. Not tonight. _No more silence._ Not with Julia. Henry lowered his head and bit ever so gently at her ear and then he gave her the words, whispered against her skin, everywhere he touched and licked, stroked and suckled. Words of discovery as he undressed them both. Words of wicked promise as he laid her down and spread her trembling legs. Words of praise as he tasted her, of need as he filled his hands with her breasts and urgently stroked and shaped, of soothing indulgence and explicit carnality as he relentlessly drove her with mouth and hands, teeth and tongue, to her first, shattering climax.

She cried out, just his name, and then he listened. Over and over she said it, splintered, breathless, as release wracked her, and Henry drank in the sound of his name on her lips as he raked his thumbs across her nipples and slid up her, slid into her, and sank his teeth into the warmth of her neck. He only sipped, mindful of the pregnancy her body sheltered, but she shuddered at the onslaught of sensations he wrought in her, her cries wordless this time as he thrust himself to the depths of her quivering body and she came again with that first, powerful stroke of his body against hers.

Then, finally, speech fled him as he lost himself in her taste, her heat, in slick, pulsing rhythm and her body against his, around his, in her hands raking down his back and cupping his driving buttocks, in her voice as she brokenly crooned her own words of discovery and pleasure and searing demand and goaded him to his own breathless, shuddering, writhing climax.

He collapsed against her and let silence fall around them then, because it was warm and heavy with the echoes of their pleasure, with their gasps, with soft moans, with wordless promises and the rush of skin against skin, of soothing caresses. Neither of them slept, savoring the closeness, the completeness, until Henry remembered other pieces of silence, jagged with disappointment and sharp with fear and uncertainty, and he finally understood in his heart that he couldn't go on like this.

He knew, to the depths of his soul, that Vicki had never wanted to hurt him--that whatever her own doubts and fears and uncertainties, she didn't want to hurt him now. But she had. She was. And she would again, because she'd given him no sign at all that she would ever let go enough to love him the way he loved her. A man only had two choices when that happened. He could stay, keep doing the same painful, silent little dance with Vicki, protecting her as he'd promised--when she let him--_if_ she let him. But eventually he'd resent her. Eventually, he might even hate her. And he couldn't bear that. He simply couldn't.

Or he could go. Now. And free them both.

The pain of that admission cut him to his very soul.

"Henry?" Julia whispered, her fingers soft against his chest. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head and smoothed her hair back from her face, until he could breathe around the ache in his heart and find his voice. "Nothing I can't survive."

She tilted her head, her eyes dark with understanding, brimming with her own struggles. "Shouldn't there be more to life than just surviving it?"

"Yes," he breathed, and sat up, urgently pulling her with him. "Which is why I want you to go home and think, long and hard, about what kind of life you want for you and your child. Don't worry about the obstacles, don't worry about what anyone else wants or expects--not even me. When you know what _you_ want, what will make _you_ happy, then tell me, and I'll help you create exactly that."

She stared, weighing what he'd said, all of the implications, but she'd been through as much as he had, had reached the same point, and she finally, sadly nodded. "And you?"

He needed a long, deep breath. "I know what I have to do now."

She would have asked, but he leaned close and tenderly kissed her, stroked her silky hair and the smooth line of her back, wrapped her in his strength and bore her down beneath him, and she let him seduce her into a slow, sultry, languid loving.

He bundled her up and took her home then, driving her car for her, and when her mother actually met her at the door he spoke a few quiet words of power so that one time, at least, Julia would face no judgment for taking something she wanted for herself.

Julia lingered a moment longer, her hand gentle on his cheek, but then the door closed behind her and there was only silence, and darkness, and the bitter knowledge of the only choice left to him.

Henry turned, walking slowly away, and pulled his phone from his pocket. The man he wanted didn't answer, but then, he never did. There was no message, either, just a long, clear tone.

"Augustus," he breathed, "it's Henry. I need you."

He had no other words, but nothing more was necessary. Henry hung up, gathered his strength and his power around him, and walked silently into the night.

* * *

So. Think that fits? I haven't always written fanfic within the confines of a series' canon, but with these Blood Ties scenes that's been one of my goals. I've enjoyed it--hope you have, too--but it does mean I'm stuck waiting until I know for sure whether there's another season and what happens in it, (ever the optimist), before I write more going forward. I sincerely hope that one day soon we'll get another season and the series writers will bring one ridiculously sexy vampire and one ridiculously stubborn private detective together. If they don't, I'll be one of the fanfic writers who does. In the meantime, (in between all of the postcards and plastic fangs and whatnot), I just may find myself going back to the beginning of the series and writing more Henry scenes. One can never have enough Henry… can one?!? Comments??


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